Fall in Love, Mademoiselle
by Ki Ken Tai Ichi
Summary: Based off of France's character song. A young tourist who isn't having as good of a time in Paris as she'd hoped, runs into a young man who wishes to teach her about his city, beauty, and love. Rated K , as it's pretty tame. Contains a random OC, but there is no romance between France and the OC. One-shot.


**A/N** : I find it humorous that this fic should be my first hetalia post on this site (though it isn't the first hetalia fic I've written). Why is that? Well, France isn't my favorite character. Don't get me wrong, I find his lecherous ways to be hilarious, but I like a few other countries more ([ꝺ]ω[ꝺ]). And while his pervy tendencies make me laugh, there is more to him than that, a side I can't help but think of when I hear his character song "Fall in love, Mademoiselle (So I guess you could call this a song fic). So, I hope this little ficlet can show you the side of France not often focused on. Enjoy!

* * *

She sat on the bench, watching the people around her, and wondered if she was a masochist.

Because, what sane person would subject themselves to such torture?

When her parents had given her permission to go somewhere, anywhere, in Europe for a week, Emily had chosen Paris without a second consideration. A city of fantastic architecture and breathtaking art and wondrous food. And yes, she also knew its other name, The City of Love, but that title hadn't bothered her. Not until she arrived.

Everywhere she looked someone was in love. Whether it was the young lovers lying on the grass by the Eiffel Tower or the old married couple at the café she ate breakfast at, Emily couldn't go anywhere without being reminded that she'd come to Paris alone.

She stared at the Le Mur Des Je T'aime (The Wall of "I Love You") and at the infinite stream of lovers who came and shared greetings, kisses, presents, and proposals. The more she watched, the smaller Emily felt. Her face grew hot and she stared down at her purple pants, hoping she wouldn't start crying in public. Even if she was a complete stranger to this city, she didn't want anyone to remember the crying tourist.

" _Bonjour, mademoiselle_." A young man greeted.

" _Bonjour, monsieur_ ," Emily reciprocated politely, not even certain he was saying this to her.

"Oh, an American!" The man continued jovially.

Emily looked up to see a young man with shoulder length blonde hair, as light as the rays of the sun, sit beside her on the bench. His bright cerulean eyes matched his happy tone, but the slight stubble at his chin kept his face mature.

"Um, _oui_." Emily agreed, embarrassed that her French was so poor.

"Oh, _Je suis désolé_ ," the man said. "I did not mean to offend."

Now Emily knew how red her pale cheeks had gotten. She crossed her arms and shifted so she couldn't see the beautiful man so well. Emily didn't know why, but she felt like she couldn't speak to him, like she wasn't allowed. Maybe because he was so polite and attractive and she was, well, there were prettier girls in Paris.

"I'm very sorry." The man continued, turning so that he could see her face. "Please, smile so that I can know you are alright."

Emily forced herself to smile and nearly choked when the man tucked a strand of her brown hair behind her ear.

" _Non,_ that is not a smile." He laughed for a second, "But I wouldn't expect you to smile in such a place."

"What do you mean by that?" Emily asked defensively. She turned to face the Parisian so she could better read his face and gauge the meaning behind his words.

"This is a place for lovers, _mademoiselle_. And you are no lover, not yet."

"Not yet?" Emily stood up from the bench and began to walk away from the man at a quick pace.

" _Non,_ _mademoiselle_. I'm afraid you've misunderstood me." The Parisian said, swiftly stepping in front of Emily. "I mean, a lover of Paris."

"I do love Paris." Emily protested. "I've seen the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triumphe and-"

"Oh, but you have not seen Paris. Please," the man got down on one knee, as if proposing, and Emily frantically looked around, afraid of who might be watching. "Allow me to show you Paris."

Emily paused, staring at the man. He looked up at her with eager, lively blue eyes that made her brown eyes feel like mud. Sparkling clear water and dirty mud, that's what stared each other down until Emily could feel her head nodding without consent from her brain.

The man sprang to his feet and grasped her hands. He pressed them to his lips, gently, and lowered them, gazing into her eyes once again.

"I am Francis Bonnefoy, _mademoiselle-"_

"I'm Emily Wilson,"

"Emily, I will show you how to fall in love."

* * *

Francis led Emily into the Luxembourg Gardens, spreading his arms out wide as they arrived. They slowly ambled down the brick paths, Francis naming every flower, bush, and tree that they passed. After wandering through the gardens for nearly an hour, Francis and Emily lied down on the lush green lawns and watched the sun bleed onto the horizon. As the blue sky slowly melted into a sherbet of reds and oranges, Emily could hear Francis softly mumble to himself.

"What did you say?" She asked, curious as to what could be occupying his thoughts.

"Oh, just thinking about the first time I came to these gardens." Francis replied. "They were so small then, and every time I come here it just grows into something better."

"Every time? Does it change like every day?"

Francis smiled sadly. "No, I simply don't have the time to come here like I used to. The world is so busy now that I often don't get the chance to come."

"Well thank you for bringing me here on your day off." Emily said. She turned back to the fiery horizon and began to grin, though she didn't quite know why.

"Ah, now that's a smile." Francis exhaled. "With a smile like that, you're more beautiful than all of these flowers."

Emily brought her knees to her chest and hid her burning face in her legs. She couldn't stop smiling and her chest hurt as her heart raced. Even though it was such a simple compliment, when said in such a genuine voice like that…it made her feel so light and warm.

* * *

"And this is the Pont des Arts," Francis said, giving Emily's hand a slight squeeze as they stepped onto the grand bridge that was lit by gas lamps. Emily released Francis' hand and stepped to the railing. She leaned over, watching the way the lamp's reflections danced on the moving river below. By looking at the water's surface, Emily was able to see Francis join her at the railing.

"The water may be pretty, but you really should be looking up." He whispered.

Emily brought her eyes up, to Francis and saw that he was now watching the people on the bridge. Emily turned her attention to the pedestrians on the bridge and saw drunken party goers, gossiping shoppers, eager tourists, and –of course- loving couples. Other than snickering at the loud singing from the drunken men, Emily saw nothing else interesting about the people on the bridge.

Francis took notice of this.

"The city of Paris is called the City of Love. Do you know why?"

Emily shrugged her shoulders, her mood being brought down by the giggles of nearby lovers. "Because the city's full of romance."

"In a way." Francis smiled softly. "I find it so _odd_ that Americans only have one word for love. Love, just one word, is used to encapsulate the range of emotions that stretch from familial to platonic to romantic to passionate…if you look on this bridge, I could show you every meaning of the word love."

He gestured to the drunken men. "Brothers."

Then to the chatting women. "Friends."

And to the couples. "Lovers."

Francis then turned Emily so that she was looking farther down the bridge, peering into the shadows Emily could just make out a small group of people, their features indistinguishable from the darkness and distance. Then, as she was trying to make them out, a tune carried through the wind. A soft sweet melody of a stringed instrument. Violin?

"Are those musicians?" Emily asked.

"Yes," Francis grinned. "They are the zealous. Just listen to them and you can feel their passion, their love, in their music."

Emily closed her eyes and allowed the high strings wrap around her body only for the smooth low saxophone to lift her up and the gentle drumbeat set the pace for her heart.

A warm grasp clutched her hands and Emily could feel her body spin. She opened her eyes and saw that Francis held her and was slowly pulling her to the center of the bridge, into the pools of golden light.

"No Francis. I can't dance." Emily protested.

"But of course you can. Everyone can dance in Paris!" Francis laughed and he spun her around. This knocked her off balance, but he pulled her back into him. She clutched his shoulders for a moment, regaining her sense of up and down, only for Francis to step away. Emily stepped towards him, and when Francis stepped to the left Emily followed. She matched his swaying movements because he was her stability in the rushing action; he was the sturdy column that kept her upright.

And soon the pace began to increase, faster and faster until she and Francis were bouncing rather than walking. Their breaths, though rapid, were as in sync as their steps and Emily began feel light again. Her head was hot and flushed, but she couldn't stop smiling. She could feel a frightful blush spread across her cheeks, but Emily could only laugh with delight.

Their dance stopped suddenly. She and Francis were still, face to face, for several heartbeats. Slowly Emily released her sweaty hand from Francis' and stepped back, putting distance between her and him until another pair of dancers could pass through.

She moved back to the edge of the bridge and grinned as the cool river breeze chilled her bare arms. Her head cooled down, but became heavier, and her blush lessened considerably by the time Francis came to her side.

"We are lucky there are no clouds tonight." Francis remarked, looking up.

Emily followed his eyes and gasped aloud. Despite the streetlights around them, the infinite pinpricks of light could not be missed. Like diamonds the stars shone, thousands of polished jewels befit for the crown of the king of kings.

"They're amazing." Emily breathed, sad that she couldn't open her eyes wider.

"They are," Francis agreed. "But they aren't as beautiful as you."

Emily suddenly felt hot and weightless again, like when she'd been dancing moments ago. She gripped the side of the railing and forced her fiercely pounding heart to settle before she spoke. Goosebumps ran down her skin as her mind raced. What did this mean? Why was he saying such things to a girl like her? What provoked him to speak with such a passion? Was he…in love with her?

But he'd just met her. Francis didn't know her and she didn't know him. And yet…she couldn't help but imagine how fantastic it would be. To come to Paris and to have a romance with someone as amazing as Francis. But then, when she had to leave, what then? If this was love, then did that mean they would keep up with each other despite the ocean between them? Or would they simply never see each other again? If they never saw each other again, then what was the point of falling in love? To spend this time together with no lasting results. Why bother?

"Are you alright Emily?" Francis asked.

"Uh, yeah. It's just…it's getting late and…I think it might be time to get back."

"Time to leave? The sun set hardly an hour ago!" Francis protested. Emily was shocked at how genuinely hurt he sounded.

Emily jumped when he placed his hand on hers. But he did nothing else. For nearly a minute Francis and Emily stood at the side of the bridge, staring at their respective interests.

"Please, allow me to show you one more place before I escort you back to your hotel."

Emily considered Francis' request. He'd been so kind to her that afternoon, and it really was very early. One more sight. One more place she'd yet to visit in Paris.

"Alright," she agreed. "Where are we going?"

* * *

"It's just a little further." Francis promised.

"I'm fine," Emily replied with a grin. "I used to run cross country back home. This is nothing. It's not even a mile."

"Quelle?"

"I'm sorry, it's hardly more than a kilometer, isn't it?"

"Yes. And I am sorry. The Parc des Buttes Chaumont is much more beautiful during the day, but where we're going is best at night."

"And what's the name of the place again?"

"The Temple de la Sybille," Francis named again, with a small chuckle.

"Is that it?" Emily asked, pointing to an intricate stone building ahead that looked like a large gazebo or a tiny temple.

"Oui," Francis chirped, heading for the temple with what was nearly a skip. Emily followed at a bit more controlled pace.

But Francis didn't go into the Temple. He continued past the Temple and disappeared behind the stone, on the cliff side of the Temple. Emily hesitated for a moment, but faithfully followed him.

Francis smiled brightly at her when she saw him. He remained silent and simply pointed at the view below. Emily paused, staring at the way the moonlight reflected off Francis' hair to make it almost white, and then looked down.

She immediately saw the dark lush park below and the shining glow of the moon on the lake beneath the cliff. The water was moving, thanks to the waterfalls, so the moon looking like it was dancing on the water's surface. Emily smiled at the idea of a dancing moon, and she brought her head up to see further into the distance.

Hundreds of lights spread throughout the cityscape. Streetlights, building lights, house lights. All golden. Though each individual source of light was distinguishable, the overall city was cast in a golden glow that reminded Emily of warm and happiness and made her heart race with excitement.

And amongst the gold, Emily could see hundreds of silhouettes. People. People in pairs, people in groups, and even the rare person in solitude. They weren't exactly the ant-sized people Emily had seen from the Eiffel Tower. From this height Emily could easily remember that she was seeing people, and that somehow made what she was seeing all the more personal.

"Wow, I mean, the view from the Eiffel Tower was nice, but…I mean I'm not any higher but somehow I feel as though I can see more of Paris." Emily paused, taking in the golden sea below. "You can almost taste the lights of the city from this height….uh, as silly as that sounds."

" _Non,_ I understand. While the Tower does have its own grandiose observation deck, the view from here makes you feel as though he are a part of Paris while still being able to see a great deal of it."

"Yeah," Emily agreed. "And there are so many people here." She added. "More than there are lights."

She heard Francis chuckle. "Yes, and you are more beautiful than any of them."

"Why do you say that?" Emily snapped as the onslaught of lightness and heat enveloped her again at his loving words.

"Je suis désolé, what do you mean?"

"This, this whole beautiful thing. I mean, do you know what I look like? I have this straight brown hair and muddy eyes. I'm short and flat and I'm not the least bit exotic or mysterious or clever or anything that would provoke you to call me beautiful. Why do you lie to me? Do you think it's fun?"

Francis seemed taken aback and for a moment he stood there, staring at Emily. Though he eventually smiled and chuckled.

"Stop laughing and be serious with me. Why? Why are you taking me to these places and calling me such nice things? You don't even know me!"

"Ah, but I don't have to know you to love you."

"Yes, yes you do. That's kind of the idea of love."

"Love is the attraction between two forces." Francis replied with a smile. "It doesn't have to be based on reason or logic, it simply has to exist. Most live their life acknowledging this attraction with a select few, and some go through life without noticing any attraction. I, however, embrace every attraction. I love everyone and everything, and I admire everyone's beauty."

"Not everyone is beautiful Francis." Emily said quietly. "Some people are absolutely gorgeous with radiant hair and shining eyes and perfect skin, like you. But people like you aren't normal. Most people have some good qualities, like nice hair or the proper height. But some, like me, are completely ordinary. They don't-"

"Don't say that." Francis interrupted. His voice was low and lacked all joviality. His cerulean eyes were narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed in anger. "Never say that about yourself, Emily."

He stepped towards her and his eyes softened and his shoulders relaxed.

"Everyone is beautiful, Emily. Some just some conceal their beauty. But by smiling or laughing or by throwing themselves into their passion, a person's true beauty can be unveiled. When you smiled in the garden, when you danced underneath the stars, when you admire my city, you look beautiful."

Francis came closer to her and stroked a strand of brown hair out of Emily's face, keeping his warm hand on her cheek after the hair had been tucked away.

"When I saw you at the wall today. I saw a person who could be so beautiful and so happy, but had instead shut herself in, had prevented herself from feeling love.

Francis took one more step towards Emily and they were closer than when they had been dancing. Though he was nearly a head taller than her, Francis touched his forehead to Emily's and they closed their eyes, reveling in each other's presence

"Life's too short to carry a sealed heart, mademoiselle." Francis exhaled. "Be beautiful and open yourself to love, in all shapes and forms."

* * *

They walked back to the hotel at a slow pace, wasting time by talking about art and literature and cinema that they enjoyed. But since the time was spent getting to know each other, neither felt like it had been a waste.

"Francis," Emily said when they reached her hotel. "Thank you, for everything. The gardens, the bridge, the temple, and… thank you so much for everything today."

"But of course, Emily; it was my pleasure to spend the day with you." He took her hand and held it for a few moments, staring into her eyes. "Now go forth, and fall in love, _mademoiselle_."


End file.
